Git Ready Fer Some Tall Tales Told Texas Gal Style!
Real Life Adventures of a Fabulous REDHEAD (because the best head is a red head) who will pop a quiz in your ass if you do not memorize ALL details. And where'd she get her such no manners rudeness?

Only Mr. Pansy

Something Pansy Found 2 Lifetimes Ago

Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers, But to be fearless in facing them.Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain,But for the heart to conquer it.Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield,But to my own strength.Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved,But hope for the patience to win my freedom.Grant me that I may not be a coward,Feeling your mercy in my success alone,But let me find the grasp of your hand in my failure.

Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941)

Thursday, October 29, 2009

So, on 10/21/09 I once again got the ever popular (not) fabulous (yes) RadioFrequency Ablation (RFA) surgery done on a new "enlarging" tumor on my liver. The surgeon and I both tell the anesthesiologist to drug me to holy hell (and back, please) so that maybe I will be able to stay ahead of the pain curve this time around. [Please see 2008 surgery post "Fuck Diamonds--Cancer Treatments Are A Girl's BFF"]

I wake up. So far, so good. Not in pain? EXCELLENT! But kinda nauseated. Nurse gives me a pill. A rilly nice pill. Generic name: Pain, I Will Kick Yore Ass To Last Tuesday.

This time around I have learned that just because a procedure is called "outpatient" that does not mean you will not be bedridden. You just get to be bedridden at home instead of in a hospital. I got home around 3:30pm; ate food like a truck driver until I collapsed into bed at 7:00pm. I woke up the next morning at 9:00am. Throwing up because, unfortunately, more samples of that rilly nice pain pill did NOT come home to bed with me. I threw up for 36 hours until the doctor came up with (puke pun!) THE PLAN.

THE PLAN encompassed making several dreams come true! I got to stop throwing up, which facilitated being able to take pain pills that would stay inside of me so they could do their job (half-assed compared to that rilly nice pill ~sad face~), which meant I was somewhat more comfortable, which was all made possible solely due to Mr. Pansy's skill and extreme interest/desire to implement THE PLAN. The doctor prescribed another kind of anti-nausea medication for me. Who knew that Mr. Pansy's dream job as he was growing up was that if he studied hard, stayed out of trouble, and tried his best, maybe...JUST maybe...he could become one of the few, the proud: A Suppository Installer. Have I mentioned he is a very demented person? Which goes a long way toward explaining why I like Mr. Pansy a whole (suppository pun!) lot. giggle.

Still, only 5 days in bed. Thrashing between 22 minute bouts of sleep with a 102 fever. Not too much to fuss over about that, compared to last year's incredible level of misery. On Day 6 I got up and had my usual Monday Luncheon with my Very Most Christian Friend who quite resembles a Very Pretty Queen Camilla of England. And went straight home back to bed. But on Day 7 I got up again and got my nails done. I think. I do clearly recall I went straight back home to bed again. And on the Eighth Day she got her usual chemo. After doing her best to get assurances it was not a Bad Plan. Sadistic oncologists.

I woke up at 3am on the Ninth Day and proceeded to beat the holy hell out of this stupid computer. I cleaned its disc; I defragged it; I bought a Registry Cleaner online (it was on sale, it was 4:30am, I had a credit card, no one could have stopped me). The Registry Cleaner found 700+ "problems" that the free Registry program I had just downloaded had left behind. It is impossible to get good help these days, I swear. Which you will have noticed by now I have NOT been swearing at all in this post. What the fuck is up with THAT? Then, after jillions of aborted tries, I finally successfully downloaded: THE FLASHPLAYER. Now Mr. Pansy can once again continue his pursuit of his Other Dream Job: Volunteer Citizen Monitor of Free Porn Sites. Because SOMEBODY has to make sure those places are pornly. There is internet fraud everywhere, you know. But first, after he heard what all I had done to the computer........he wants me to do all that to HIM! giggle.

(I vow to find out what the rilly nice pill's real name is and when I find out I will also tell YOU its real name. It was THAT good.)

Thursday, October 1, 2009

My onco called the Mayo Clinic on 9/18 to refer me for evaluation for a liver transplant. After a lengthy conversation with them, my onco called me at home around 11am. Well, Baby Pansy and I were out getting emergency hoof repairs for her wedding on 9/19. Mr. Pansy alleges he spoke with the onco for a long time. Don't try to fool PANSY! Mr. Pansy doesn't even talk to ME that much. Mr. Pansy is well known as "Chatty Cathy" for his verbosity. That means we mock him because he is the original "very quiet" person. But he took notes and this is what I understand is the situation:

The Mayo people are agog about me; they still would love to have me come be evaluated (if I wish); but I am not within their current protocol for bile duct cancer liver transplant candidacy.

Well.Shit.And "whew".

I was/am very conflicted about a transplant but only because it sure sounds scary, etc. The bottom line is, if I could have a transplant I would go for it. I know from personal experience that side effects can be mitigated and lived with. It took 3 years to dial in controlling my side effects from my ongoing chemo and even THOSE 3 years were well worth the annoyances involved! haha! But what a shocker to actually have to consider "choosing" a transplant. Now I don't even have that choice. Which is where I was before, so...okay.

Science has come along far enough to actually diagnose me 6 years after the fact; and in that same 6 years it has only recently become possible for bile duct cancer people to even have a limited shot at a transplant. So who is to say that science won't/can't come through for me (or any of YOU!!) "in time"?

What if I should get "sick" before science comes through for me re a transplant? Well, hell......Been There, DOING That! hahhahaha! Best of all: I am Patient #[fill in random series of digits until your hand cramps] Yay! The Mayo Clinic itself has joined The Legions Of Those Who Know My Name!

Pansy [now pounding the shit out of cancer]: WHAT'S MY NAME!??Cancer: You are Pansy, The Most Manned Up Woman In The Universe!Pansy [gives hard vag kick* to cancer]: That's Right! And don't you ever forget it!

*"vag kick" is not meant to imply my cancer has a vagina. It's just a fight move we like to bust over on my internet cancer group. Actually, I see myself giving cancer more of a "vag stomp" with some heavy, steel-toed boots.

And, by my Pansy Math calculations, it appears that between those two phone calls my onco did not help One Singular Patient for TWO HOURS! He'd better not try pulling that stunt with me during our next appointment.

This is an excellent scientific speech about cancer and its cure:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vy67kwA6Xm4

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

I guess the answer is: a bit of both. And you should know right now that I am seriously breaking "Pansy Protocol" with this post. I NEVER put anything "out there" until it is a Completely Finished Big Picture and I always hang it up with at least a dozen sturdy railroad spikes. Now I am flinging out a bunch of out of focus, poorly framed snapshots on pins and needles. I am a wreck.

What is wrong with me? Who, with "inoperable, incurable, unknown primary cancer", would not pay Cash American Dollars (hell, I'd even throw in some Fake Australian Pesos if that would help) to be told they had an 80% chance of being cured? I have actually lived long enough to have science come through for me. What the fuck are THOSE odds?

My oncologist called me on the phone last week and said he knew what kind of cancer I have and that I now have a chance at a CURE. I have "nonresectable bile duct cancer" and I can have a liver transplant. I gasped and shouted at him "WHAT? You could not be scaring me more or shocking me more if you tried." I am certain he put his phone on "mute" after that first of many more shrieks out of me during our conversation.

There was a real disconnect between my doctor thinking he was telling me good news and me hearing words that instantly made me want to run and hide under my bed. Some big ass (turns out it was mine) prevented me from getting completely under that bed and as much as I struggled and yelled "no no no no no", he deteminedly pulled on my legs. Good thing I had just shaved them. And, worse, he was not "pulling my leg." Then I spent the next 72 hours like a wild animal feverishly trying to chew off my leg to free myself from this trap I suddenly felt I was in.

For once in my head-in-the-sand approach to my cancer, I went all internetty. And inner-nutty, too. When I hung up the phone after talking with my doctor I was alone in my house. Good thing, because I scared not only myself but all the pets with the primal howl that came out of me and I was close to hysterical: crying and incoherent. Mr. Pansy happened to call me and I sounded like I needed an ambulance.

Even when I went on the internet and found "good" information, STILL I have continued to mope around in a puddle of tears and flop-sweat.

PROS:--We now know I have bile duct cancer. All this time it has been "undiagnosed primary".--It does not matter if we had known this 6 years ago. Or even sooner. So no angry "why didn't/couldn't you find this out sooner?"--Because until fairly recently a liver transplant for bile duct cancer patients was NOT an option. Why waste a liver on someone whose cancer might come back?--We know my cancer's name because my doctor HAD to do a liver biopsy a couple weeks ago. (more on this later)--Bile duct cancer liver transplants have an 80% success rate (live for 5 years)--I can have a live donor and don't have to wait for a dead donor. [looking at YOU to go get tested. har!]

CONS:--if it doesn't work I am dead on the spot. I will lose what time I would have had left if I had not done the transplant.--if it does work I would need to take immunosuppressive drugs forever. And they "can" cause high blood pressure (already got that); high cholestrol (who cares); diabetes Type 2 (that's a biggie but.......).

I just want so much to keep on with my cancer life "as usual": the weekly chemos, routine CT scans, occasional port replacement surgery, the new addition of occasional rogue tumor removal via RFA (radio frequency ablation). I truly feel so Perfectly Healthy. I can do anything I want and those things I no longer can do I am okay with not doing them.

And what's with my onco doctor? He is my Second Husband. Why is he trying to "divorce" me? haha.

Why do I have to make a "Pansy's Sophie Choice" of throwing away everything on a risky transplant?

Dammit, I really do know that my doctor IS giving me good...fuck, make that: GREAT NEWS. I can have a liver transplant. It is considered a cure. But now I know Just How Easy it is to hate that dreadful "5 years" timer overhead.

I am surgery-phobic. I could never get that rockin' set of boobs no matter if they were free. I could never do a face lift or tummy tuck or any kind of cosmetic surgery. I don't know why. Just not on any lists of mine.

In fact, the ONLY list I have ever had is my "TO DO" list. Of men. AFTER Mr. Pansy dies, so you can just go slap down that tent in your pants now, boys. Stupid horndongs. (nice typo/pun there, Pansy) Sheesh!

THIS ONE IS THE BIGGIE:

I truly cannot keep my "current cancer life as is." That ship has already long sailed away. And I didn't even really know it until right now.

At the beginning my doctor told me that if they knew that I had, say, liver cancer (since that is where the tumors are) they would have just done a liver transplant and we would have all gone on our merry ways. But with an "undiagnosed primary" all they could do was try chemo and see what happened. As we all know, I totally snuck under that limbo stick.

He also declined over the years to do another biopsy because a biopsy leaves a slight trail of loose cells which could rile things up and make the cancer go "boom". And since everything was "working", the risk of a biopsy rocking the boat was not worth it. And everything WAS working until.........

Summer of 2008 a singular tumor went rogue. But it was a tumor that had been there since Day One, so we took a chance on an RFA and, as we all know, I really snuck under that limbo stick. Sprained myself a little bit with the "post ablation syndrome" but even that was actually just another adventure.

My doctor is a wonderful guy and he really will not play "self fulfilling prophecy" games. So he does not go very much into the "what ifs" of anything. We just deal with the "what is-ers". But when that first rogue tumor happened, that is when my doctor started NOT telling me something.

Spring of 2009 another singular tumor has gone rogue. And it is a brand new tumor. Well away from all other tumors. Now my doctor had his back unwillingly shoved up against his own wall. The risks of a liver biopsy of this new tumor were outweighed by the fact that a brand new tumor is seriously bad shit news. I do not think he expected at all to learn what kind of cancer I have. That is ANOTHER medical advance that has occurred over just these past 6 years. And, now that we know, it does explain why my cancer is acting the way it is. Bile duct cancer is a very tenacious cancer that will do all it can to overcome chemo and it appears it has found a crack in my armor.

And here I thought I had just jumped into the ocean and was swimming for all I was worth. Who knew I was still tethered to that fucking cancer ship? Guess I'm gonna have to grab that tether and learn how to waterski. I already know how to "regular" waterski and even single ski. Now I have to also fucking throw in jumping tricks, probably while skiing backwards? Hmmm. What shall I wear?[pulls on Big Girl Ruffly Rhumba Panties]

I TRY to keep remembering my deal with God so I am also upset that I am upset At All. I was supposed to not get upset ever again. Another thought that trails through my brain is this: if not for the brave patients and doctors IN RECENT TIMES going for The Brass Ring there would be no history of successful bile duct cancer transplants and I still would not have a chance. Now I have 80 chances (or some mangulation of math). Too bad that ring so closely resembles one of those Rings of Hell we all hear about. haha!

If they could step up to the plate, I really ought to at least honor them by trying to step up to my own [damn fucking piled with shit] Big, Shiny, Pretty plate. [makes forced smile]

I cannot wait to see my doctor tomorrow and hear what he has to say. [grunts for awhile] Well. I see I have lost my powers to "move the space and time continuum" so evidently I am going to HAVE to wait. hahahhahaha!

It's One Day At A Time for now. Tomorrow I say "go" to the doctor. dammit.Hope I get time enough to buckle up.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

and all they gave her for her agony was a single, ordinary, "flesh color" band-aid. God forbid ANYONE's flesh is ever THAT color. When will they humor me and give me a big old mummy wrap to impress/scare others? [pouts]

In case you need to ever get a liver biopsy done: they are totally a non-event. Anyone who claims otherwise must be some kind of Quite High Maintenance Bitch, says Pansy The Most Manned Up Woman in the Universe.

Of course, there were some wonderful gory moments: the vein in my right arm "blew". I told the nurse to never say that word in my conscious presence again. The vein in my left arm just would not cooperate and when I finally HAD to say "ow" she apologized and stopped digging. They decided they could access my chestport at which point I demanded to see their qualifications to do so. They did a remarkably believable approximation of what the chemo nurses do to me so I let them access my chestport. Without any numbing but sometimes you have to bite the damn crochet hook needle and just do it.

The doctor was not utterly optimistic before the procedure because he had several obstacles: a very specific and relatively small tumor in a liver crowded with tumors had to be biopsied; needle biopsies can only take limited tissue and that can result in a "not enough to make any determination" sample size....necessitating a do-over or, more likely, an invasive surgical biopsy. Then he reviewed my CT scans, felt around my liver and realized the tumor is miraculously quite set apart from any others and somewhat accessible, BUT ONLY IF I HELD MY BREATH. When I held my breath my expanded lungs pushed the liver out "just enough" which meant we could do the biopsy without a live-feed CT scan. This is desireable since the less radiation I have to be subjected to, the better. He ultrasounded me, got a lock on the tumor position and we were off to the races.

We worked out a deal where I would hold my breath and he would do what he could in that time frame; then we'd take a breather (pun!) and so we continued to shampoo/rinse/repeat until he got a tissue sample. THREE tissue samples, thank you very much. The creepiest part was the lidocaine injection. The doctor, of course, cannot merely numb the skin. He has to numb all the way down and into the liver. The needle's pointy part was seriously 6 inches long. And just about all of it got pushed with emphasis into my abdomen. I fiercely closed my eyes during that part. Ick. He'd stab, inject, the stuff would burn/sting until it numbed me, he'd wait a couple more seconds, stab further, inject, burn/sting, etc. That took about 4 deeper and deeper stabbings to complete. When he hit the liver there was a "whoosh" sensation of my entire liver/right side being flooded with something. Fortunately, the numbing kicked in REAL QUICK.

Then he did the part where he stuck something inside me to snip off tissue. And when it "snipped" it did so with a very loud, echo-off-the-walls, metallic SNAP. I never saw that device because I had put Super Glue on my eyelids by then. I was also getting "mild sedation" via the chestport IV. I would advise them occasionally that I really did not feel very sedated at all. They'd laugh and buzz me up a bit. We really had a good and cooperative time. The doctor was proud of me.

Now I am not to lift anything beyond 15 pounds for the next 72 hours. Like I ever lift that much of anything except maybe a pie. No activities that might "strain" me, like running. So I am going to include bicycling for that 72 hour restriction period. But, of course, I CAN go back to work FULL TIME as soon as tomorrow if I "feel up to it". I also decided that Mr. Pansy should not "feel up to it" for 72 hours. I might get a "strain". He definitely is going to be feeling strained by the end of 72 hours of celibacy. hahahhaha!

And then, this morning, Pansy Completely Forgot about no straining and let Mr. Pansy have his way with her! Then, in the middle of it all, HE remembered and got all upset and "stopped" to ask me if I was okay. When did HE forget that if Pansy is "not okay" the whole world comes to a screeching "not okay" stop? Doofus. But he's Pansy's Doofus so that's okay.

The mildy-sedated Pansy (Oh, ~weep~ she looks SO life-like.) Actually, I rather look like a "big old mummy" all wrapped up and kindy scary. Gotta watch what I wish for. haha!

All this hoopla is because 3 months ago a new tumor showed up on my CT scan. Drat. Then, the most recent CT scan showed the new tumor has doubled in size. Double Drat. So, Pansy will be getting some gawdawful procedure to remove said new tumor in the very near future. She will be SURE to regale you with the horrors of that exciting episode on the ongoing, hopefully long-running, mini-series: "Perils of Pansy". How worried is Pansy? She is so worried the tumor removal might put her on the "temporarily disabled" list, she will not schedule it before the upcoming Baby Pansy Wedding. I want that meal we're paying the Big Bucks for. Sometime after 9/19/09 [burp] it's more "off to the races".

Sunday, August 30, 2009

First of all.............I have added another doctor to my medical posse: cardiologist.

1. He HATES tattoos! How does Pansy know? She beats information out of anyone who crosses her path. And he most definitely crossed Pansy with his condemnation of tattoos. I learned of his extreme personal aversion re tattoos when I asked him if he thought it would be safe to get flowers [pansies of course] and vines/leaves tattooed over my [brace yourselves, youngsters, it's gonna happen to YOU too, ya punks!] VARICOSE VEINS. He could not be swayed even when I assured him the tattoos would be tasteful and discrete---as long as I did not wear short, revealing, age-inappropriate clothing. [Yes, WE all know Pansy was lying through her stained, snaggle tooth when she told the cardiologist that huge, fucking lie, but HE doesn't know yet that Pansy Lies.] I guess he doesn't get asked THAT question very often since most of his patients are near death on tennis balls. You know. The tennis balls on their walkers. [Note to Self: add that last comment to list of Reasons Why Pansy Is Going To Hell.]

2. I told him the story behind the tattoos Pansy already has. He found that quite intriguing. Especially the parts about being naked in Jamaica. NO, you do not have to be naked in Jamaica to get tattoos. That's just how Pansy likes to get inspiration for her tattoos.

3. I was seeing the cardiologist because my blood pressure has been quite active and since June it has been scoring big time: in the neighborhood of 230/140. Evidently that is a bad, crime-filled neighborhood. How bad is this neighborhood? Pansy's savvy New Jersey sister-in-law (Long Suffering Woman) told Pansy: It's the kind of neighborhood that only has bars, tattoo parlors and barber shops where they only know 2 kinds of hairdos: "buzz cuts" and "scalp design". Which does go a long way toward explaining why Pansy is often hungover wondering where she got THAT tattoo and why is she sporting an uneven buzz cut?

4. About 2 minutes into the initial 15 minute "consultation appointment" (which is doctor code on their insurance company reimbursement rip-off claims for "do nothing but schedule another appointment"), he stopped talking, looked at me, took a breath and said "This is above my pay grade." Yessss!

I guess he's never had a patient who has had over 200 chemos and eagerly plans to have more. He then proceeded to talk with me for a solid hour. FINALLY, I got my $20 co-pay money's worth out of a doctor! As I was leaving, he said something along the lines of: "No fucking way in hell am I going to let you die while you are on my watch." He was not kidding around. He put me on an additional blood pressure drug and now I take 4 drugs for my blood pressure. That drug has been quite enjoying kicking Pansy's ass ever since.

5. Day One of Additional Drug was a Saturday. I spent it flat out on the floor with multiple side effects. They included, but were not limited to:----dizziness; vertigo; faintness; feeling weak when sitting/standing (those sound alike but they are each separate side effects)----nausea; flatulence, constipation, diarrhea, flushing (yes, you can have ALL of those simultaneously and NO, smartasses, the "flushing" was more than the toilet....it's hot flashes)----headache; chest pain (like being crushed externally by a can masher); swelling of extremities; leg cramps; leg pain---insomnia, dry mouth, runny nose

And the special side effects for ONLY all you guys out there are:----impotence----enlarged breasts [???!!!] WHY DO YOU GET ALL THE FUN SIDE EFFECTS????!!!!

The ONLY side effects I have not yet had the joy of experiencing are:---bleeding gums---transient blindness

I will bet you anything that I have had the "transient blindness". While I was asleep. Side effects can't tell time so what would they know about when to show up? Does "transient blindness" involve playing Seeing Eye Dog with Hobos? Because Pansy is tired of that game with Mr. Pansy. [Feel free to insert your own rude comment concerning teaching old dogs new tricks.] Pansy is just grateful all the above side effects are not under the category of "go to the nearest emergency room"....of which there are about 6 of those.

6. Dammitall, the drug combo is working. Within 48 hours my blood pressure readings were down by half: 140/90 and lower. No wonder I was on the floor with my stomach in my throat. With that kind of a roller coaster drop I am sure I was somewhat experiencing the equivalent of going into shock. The drug is working but it is pretty nasty. I am going to gut it out for another week or so but the foot swelling and leg pain/cramps are real close to disabling. At least the dizziness has subsided so that I am able to ride my bicycle again.

7. During these 3 visits to the cardiologist he did an EKG; a kidney ultrasound; and an echocardiogram on me. To his delight (and mine, truth be told) every result was "perfect". Not a bit of artery problems, no heart damage of any sort, 54 resting heartrate. Just amazing. The doctor was shocked since he had warned me that he expected some heart damage due to my blood pressure history. Not.

Still, he wants to see me again in 3 months and then every 6 months thereafter. Because he has the hots for Pansy. How do I know this? Because, just like all my other doctors, the cardiologist has fallen under Pansy's Spell. He would say to me at each appointment: "You look GREAT." But only in a platonic, medical way.dammit.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Facebook has come to blight my life. I have been defriended more than a few times (what a shocker! hahahhahaha!); my computer has been attacked by all kinds of bugs and viruses; I think I might be on a "list" somewhere. In fact, I am quite certain I am on several "lists" out there. hahaha! I hope so. And having to put up with all those incessant "applications" and "quizzes" and "lists". But I get my jollies by re-formatting them. To wit:

THERE WAS THE "25 THINGS YOU DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT ME". Considering I know just about nothing about any of these people in the first place is, evidently, quite beside the point. My version was "25 THINGS ABOUT GETTING CANCER"

1. I did not collapse, scream, or cry at the doctor's office. It was already way too fucking late for those cheap theatrics.

2. Instead, I went home on that Black Friday and waited for Mr. Pansy to come home. I did not call him at work or go see him at work. Why not let him have his last 5 hours of "life is happy, happy, joy, joy" innocent ignorance?

3. When Mr. Pansy got home, I began to break things. I broke him. I broke our two children. I broke my sister, my brother, my parents. That wasn't enough. Over the next few weeks I broke every one of my friends, too.

4. When Mr. Pansy told his mother, she said these immortal words: "She is going to really manipulate you now." I hope I will never say such a cruel thing to anyone. Especially not to my child as they tell me about something that is causing them the most pain of their life. It took me some time to realize she is jealous and furious that I have topped any kind of infirmity she can ever come up with. Gotta take my wins where I can get them, you know. hahahha!

5. I knew immediately that I would do anything/take anything the doctors suggested or offered. It was "ON". I would die from the shame I would feel if I did not do everything. I will NOT have my family/friends ever be able to say "she didn't try."

6. After 43 days of getting every cancer test out there, we learned I have Secret Cancer. It refuses to even give just its name, rank or serial number. This one was gonna be a tough customer.

7. My doctors tell me that I have "unknown primary cancer metastasized to the liver, right kidney and both lungs." And that it is incurable. And inoperable. I say "Oh. And what's the bad news?" I really did say that.

8. The bad news was that Plan A involved simultaneous full strength doses of all the chemo drugs for lung cancer, ovarian cancer and breast cancer.

9. I felt horribly ashamed to be so frightened about impending chemo treatments. There was no other option, so I went to MY "Plan A": I made a deal with God. I told God that I would accept whatever came my way and that whatever happened, it would be okay with me. God said "Deal." And in that exact second, all my fears went away. Forever.

10. Plan A is implemented. I am Very Surprised. This chemo stuff truly is not nearly as awful as its reputation. Oh, it IS awful...that's a for sure fucking fact. But surely if there is one thing everyone does know about me, it is my credo: if a Pansy can do it, anyone can do it. I smile as I vomit.

11. Six chemo rounds later we learn that Secret Cancer thinks the chemo drugs are manna from heaven. It's grown leaps and bounds and is all plump and pink and cheerful. I am wilted, thin, gray-skinned and bald. And kinda pissed off. Plan A is supposed to have a 50% success rate. Well, fuck the 50% I got stuck with.

12. We go to Plan B. It is presented to me as Very Useless and perhaps I should consider going straight to Plan C (experiments out of town) since I was real close to running out of time. I want to go with Plan B, somewhat against my doctor's wishes.

13. Guess The Fuck What? Very Useless Plan B fucking worked!

This is where my list ends. I know it's not 25 things but "13" is my Lucky Number. I was born on a "13"; I work on Floor "13" (although it is called Floor 14); and my desk is even located at Space "13". No sense messing with good mojo!

BUT PANSY DON'T LIKE TO LEAVE THINGS UNFINISHED, SO SHE THOUGHT IT OVER SOME MORE AND GOT THESE:

14. I am no fence sitter. I somehow "know" which medical decisions to make. And I don't even have no medical degree!

15. I have never been intimidated by my doctors and have never doubted their guidance. Lucky for them I have approved of their decisions, so far.

16. I am astounded every waking minute over how Mr. Pansy picked up every oar in our boat and continues to look for more oars. I don't know why he isn't dead from stress or exhaustion already.

17. I lost all emotional attachment to possessions. Everything I own is merely a "thing".

18. I love that I must have chemo forever. I could not endure the "performance pressure" of a finite set of treatments.

19. Considering I cry at the drop of a hat about others, I have only cried "for myself" 3 times. I hope that means I am far less selfish than I believe I am. I'm probably wrong about that hope!

20. I had no idea I would be so ANGRY about having cancer but I don't feel sad about it. I confess I enjoy being a "hater" on things like Facebook lists and "forward to everyone" emails. And jalapeno peppers. Boy, do I ever haaate those! hahahhaha!

21. I never did and especially now do not regret one single moment of my lifelong lack of "plan for the future" genes. Those memories are worth more than any retirement plan now! hahahhaha!

22. I believe Mr. Pansy will go on without me. I wish he would believe it, too.

23. Cancer's greatest gift is that it allows a "long" goodbye. I love how cancer swept away a lot of bullshit emotional clutter between me and the family members that matter the most to me: husband, children, siblings. So many people waste years on petty issues because they think they have forever. There were not many issues for me but it's good to have a clean slate.

24. I have cancer the "best" way: no terrible financial debts, no insurance hassles, great doctors, wonderful emotional support from family, friends and my employer.

25. I am most happy that I had guaranteed renewable life insurance. At least I got to stick something to "the man" when I suddenly became uninsurable! Mr. Pansy will have 5 years worth of house payments to buy him time to make sensible decisions. He has new insurance too. I will be able to buy the most rockin' set of boobs ever. Screw "sensible"!

And one to grow on:

26. I am very un-reconciled to death. But I trust I will be given the tools I will need when I get there. Besides, cancer garners way too much attention for what we all eventually have to face. Who knew the perks of having such a "glamour diagnosis" would work so great for Lazy Narcissistic Pansy! hahahaha!

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THE BUCKET LIST. The object is to read the list and place an (x) by all the things you've done; do NOT place an (x) by things you have not done. Pansy HATES stupid ass things......but especially she hates a fucking "Bucket List" and all its lame, Lifetime Channel morbid death aspects. You want a fucking "Bucket List" outta me? Here ya go.

(x) waded in a mountain stream and had sex(x) owned a VW bug and had sex(x) visited a friend's house and had sex in their bathroom(x) been in a sleeping bag out in the open and had sex in it in 100 degree weather(x) Skipped school and had sex(x ) been in an attic crawl space and had sex(x) sat in a mountain meadow and had sex because we thought we were alone until that family walked up on us----Note to self: don't take LSD before sex, it alters your judgment re "aloneness"! hahahha!(x) Owned a boat (canoe) and had sex(x) Been to a lighthouse and had sex(x) Swam in the ocean and had sex(x) Went streaking and had sex(x) Been to a rodeo and had sex(x) Sang Karaoke (“Just One Look”) and had sex(x) Laughed until a beverage came out of my nose and had sex(x) Watched the sunrise with someone and had sex(x) Gone to the indoor movies and had sex(x) Gone to a drive-in movie theater and had sex(x) Owned a convertible and had sex in it(x) Seen a total eclipse of the sun and had sex(x) Been to Altamont and had sex(x) been in bathtub; shower; swimming pool...sex in all(x) returned to work after "lunch" with dress on entirely inside out because of having sex(x) Been to Arizona and had sex(x) Been to California and had sex (still doing that)(x) Been to Colorado and had sex(x) Been to Florida and had sex(x) Been to Georgia and had sex(x) Been to Hawaii and had sex(x) Been to Jamaica and had sex(x) Been to Missouri and had sex(x) Been to Montana and had sex(x) Been to Nevada and had sex(x) Been to New Jersey and had sex(x) Been to New Mexico and had sex(x) Been to South Carolina and had sex(x) Been to South Dakota and had sex(x) Been to Tennessee and had sex(x) Been to Texas and had sex(x) Made a boyfriend cry? Hellayes! Due to great sex!( ) Shook the hand of a President---No, but I did shake Robert Kennedy's hand, before he was assassinated; no sex( ) Joined the mile-high club. NO! What? You think I’m some kind of sex weirdo?( ) Had sex in hot tub? NO! Who wants to have to skim "foam" off the surface?(x) Woke up today and (you know what's next) HAD SEX!

It has come (PUN!) to my attention that OTHER PEOPLE's so-called "bucket lists" differ from mine. I cannot help it if they have boring lists.

And lately I have been scoring Big Time: I would last for 32 seconds in a death match against Chuck Norris; the Bad Ass Animal I would be is a Great White Shark; my superpower is "Super Ventiloquism" with really huge red lips. I think I'll go find me some more Facebook quizzes/lists.

I have always been quite the prolific vomitress. I puked every day of my pregnancies. Sometimes twice a day. All that retching was a very worthwhile downpayment for the fabulous 4 hour painless labors I got to experience. I literally could have gotten straight up from the birthing bed and plowed 40 acres.

One day in 2003 I noticed that I could not brush my teeth without excessive gagging and very nearly vomiting. Now why isn't THAT listed as an early sign of cancer? Soon thereafter came all the many chemo drugs and Pansy went pro in the sport of XPH [Xtreme Projectile Hurling]. But now it has gotten completely out of hand......or out of mouth, should I say?

I have become hyper-sensitive to gag-inducing situations. Lord save you if you are what I call a "sloppy eater." I don't even know how to describe what qualifies as a "sloppy eater"! You eat with your mouth open? I'll gladly grab out the big chunks for myself. You have food on your face? I'll lick you clean. But God Forbid and Have Mercy On Your Dead Carcass if you eat "too fast". That will set me off into a truly disgusted/disgusting retching fit. I mean MY gagging makes ME gag so it's quite the vicious cycle.

And my gagging problem has spread to other "triggers". I have been known to start gagging when first meeting someone! It is NOT COOL to be saying "Hi. Nice to [gag, retch] meet you [heave]!" AND have to actually turn away to get my gagging under control. I actually embarrass my own damn self! I also possibly am not going to be making very many new friends from now on out.

The best way I can attempt to explain it is: "Sometimes I feel like a gag, sometimes I don't." There is ONE extremely good side to all of this: Mr. Pansy now has the largest, most gag-inducing penis on this planet! And you can Just Stop Already with the fake waterworks for Mr. Pansy. He ain't missing out on anything. He has "come" to terms with the new soundtrack that now goes along with certain mouth-to-body-parts [gag, retch] activities. hahahha!

Thursday, February 19, 2009

First of all...............I AM SENILE. But that doesn't mean I don't remember things. With a vengeance and a grudge that will never fade. I probably will NEVER FORGIVE that bastard I am married to because when the Tour of California came to town, our plans were to ride our bikes from our house to downtown and spend all day in miserable weather. It was going to be barely tolerable only because it did not look like it would actually rain and I had dressed up--strictly for the potentially bad weather, you know. MR. PANSY MADE ME FUCKING CHANGE MY FUCKING CLOTHES before we left the house. If I had worn what I intended to wear I absolutely would have been on Versus and seen 'round the world. Because I am Adorably Cute.

This place is such a podunk town. And THAT JERKOFF (which is how he is going to be getting his sex for a very long time) that I continue to live with is King of the Fucking Podunks. He actually said OUT FUCKING LOUD to me: "I wish you wouldn't wear that." And THEN he fucking said this: "I know you are just dying for attention...." and his voice trailed off and he looked wistful. Perhaps frightened at what had slipped out of his flapping mouth. I thought "I will show that bastard I am totally capable of NOT wearing costumes." And I dressed down.

Even dressed down, I was quite popular with the crowds....including the pro biker boys out on the bike trail warming up and passing us in each direction as we rode toward downtown. Many people who saw me said "I love your jacket/top/furry breasts." I was wearing my silver "fur" bicycle jersey and it isn't just a costume, it is a functioning genuine bicycle jersey. What I had been wearing in addition to the fur jersey was...well, it was indescribable and NOW NO ONE WILL EVER GET TO SEE IT. Until next year when I plan to follow the Tour of California for a day or two or seven. It is not stalking if you don't carry concealed weapons.

The Tour of California cries out for a "fixture". The "devil" at the Tour de France is a fixture. WHY SHOULDN'T PANSY BE THIS RACE'S FUCKING FIXTURE? I still can't believe that chickenshit I am married to asked me to not dress up. What is wrong with him? He had better realize that kind of "obedience" will never happen again in HIS now very much shortened lifetime. But I am not pissed off forever and ever about this incident. Or bitter. Or homicidal. Noooooo. [snarl]

Highlights of playing with the biker boys: I tracked down a couple of teams during their forced P.R. appearances around town...Jelly Belly and Garmin/Chipotle. They signed free postcards/posters and gave out team water bottles. The Jelly Belly boys had a wheelspin game: each section was 2 flavors of jelly beans. Such as Watermelon/Booger; Peach/Vomit; Lime/Asparagus. Those are all REAL flavors and MY spin landed on: Buttered Popcorn/Rotten Eggs. YES!!!! And that fucker was spot on for realistically horrible flavor. There was a trash can nearby to spew into. That was a Kodak moment I should have predicted but...nope. Because of that senility thing, you know. I still think I was set up for the rotten egg just because I had been smooching on the biker boys. They were probably worried I gave them a "germ". They wish.

The Jelly Belly Boys Never Saw It Coming:

The Chipotle/Garmin Team:

Star Boy Dave Zabriskie

Signed,

If I dress up, there will be troubleIf I don't dress up, it will be double

Hairy Backs ARE Icky

The leaves are beginning to fall.....

About Me

I walk my talk...in girlie costumes so the carcass can more readily be recovered. I am hopelessly white. I lived in a 3rd world country during my formative years so I am also a "third culture" person with Spanish deeply buried in my brain. Evidence points to me having Aztec blood sacrifice tendencies despite no actual lineage. Damn pigs keep busting me for that knife I carry in my hair but I have no idea how it got there, Officer. A "German From Russia" who is American by birth, Texan by the Grace of God, and smart enough to be from Texas. "From" being the operative word since my family left there the minute we realized we were free to do so. Laid eyes on hubby 6/16/68 and he has been dying a slow death every day since. Which pleases me no end. But he does have a smile on his face. I have "undiagnosed primary cancer" metastasized to my liver, right kidney and both lungs. I will be glugging down chemo via a chest port on a weekly basis "forever" which started 10/2003. So don't mess with me because it looks like they are going to have to put a stake through my heart to get me to actually die. Now where the FUCK is my RED LIPSTICK?!